


The Final Conquest

by fanficfriends



Series: Session 2 [3]
Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare, The Lorax (2012), the onceler - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute, This is kinda sad ngl, Why not put them together?, because someday i dream of meeting a nice boy like this, but whatever my story my rules, i love macbeth, i love the onceler, i wasnt really sold on this at first but then once i started writing it i think i've seen the light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficfriends/pseuds/fanficfriends
Summary: Macbeth rides away from his battalion to try to escape the prophecy when he meets someone unexpected...
Relationships: Macbeth/The Onceler
Series: Session 2 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877158
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	The Final Conquest

The sounds of the battalion had muted, the cacophony of yelling, singing and the beating of hooves sounding faint and muffled, like voices from across the hall. A bead of sweat ran down Macbeth’s neck as he clenched his knees and urged his horse to ride faster, faster. Even Banquo had fallen behind. 

He had urged his horse ahead of the party to exercise her, fully intending to circle back once she tired, but once he began to gallop, he became unable to stop. The weight of the words from the witches pressed down on him. He could not escape his destiny. He could not escape Banquo’s judging looks, or the hope of his wife. But he could escape his battalion, if only for a few hours. He would turn back at night. Claim to have needed to blow off steam. Banquo would know. But Macbeth really didn’t care what Banquo thought at the moment.

Macbeth squinted. “What the hell...”  
Above him, the air was shimmering like warped glass. It distorted the trees and the horizon and the impeding landscape. He could be hallucinating, but he didn’t think he was. 

Macbeth gritted his teeth and spurred the horse even faster. “Good girl, Rainey,” he said. He would give her some nice apples after this. 

He had seen stranger things than warped air recently, and he was now excited rather than scared at the prospect of the supernatural. Maybe whatever this was would give him answers. No children of his succeeding, his ass.

As he was riding full speed toward the warped patch of air, something...something emerged from the air, ex nihilo. It just wasn’t there and then it was, and then it was being flung at him and Rainey. It hit him, and they both tumbled to the ground, Rainey whinnying and rearing. 

“You bastard,” said Macbeth to the green skinny person below him. “You could have hurt my horse!” 

He moved to scramble upwards, then stopped, suddenly embarrassed by his position. The man under him was skinny but luscious looking, his lean limbs deliberately sculpted. Macbeth stood as quickly as possible to hide his blushing, then went to Rainey. She seemed to be fine, just startled, and Macbeth spoke to her in a soothing voice, stroking his hands over her mane. She calmed, nuzzling his hands with her large velvety nose. 

“That’s a beautiful horse,” said a voice.   
Macbeth whirled around to find the man upright, though clutching his head. Standing, he was surprisingly tall, and was wearing bizarrely striped clothing. 

Macbeth shook his head to clear the thoughts. “She is beautiful,” he said. “She’s a thoroughbred, a gift from the king.” 

“What king?” said the man.   
Macbeth frowned. “King Duncan, of course.”  
The man looked genuinely distressed. “I’ve never heard of King Duncan.” He looked around him, taking in the rolling fields, the distant lakes and mountains. “I think I’m very far from home.”

“Where is home?” asked Macbeth, as the man turned to examine his surroundings. Macbeth admired his slight but shapely buttocks.   
“Thneedville,” said the man. “I’m the Onceler.” 

“I’ve never heard of it.”   
“I’m not surprised,” said the Onceler. “I seem to be constantly picked up and transported other places, usually with other versions of me. You don’t look like me, though. You’re much more,” he blushed, “muscular.” 

Macbeth decided to ignore the part about being magically transported and meeting himself. “I’m Macbeth,” he said. “And this is Rainey.” 

The Onceler walked up to her tentatively. “Can I?” He reached out his hand.

“Sure,” said Macbeth. “But I’ll warn you, she usually doesn’t like strangers.”

The Onceler very gently stroked Rainey’s mane. “So, a gift from the king. You must be pretty important.” 

Macbeth shrugged in false modesty. “Just a loyal servant.” 

To his surprised, Rainey nuzzled the Onceler’s hand with affection. He laughed. 

“She likes you,” said Macbeth. “She doesn’t usually like people.”

The Onceler gave a small smile, and Macbeth reached to pet Rainey as well, but his hand met the Onceler’s instead. He felt his cheeks grow hot. 

The Onceler blushed as well, and turned away. “Oh,” he said, looking at the packs on the horse. “Is that a lute?” 

“I’m holding it for our court bard,” said Macbeth. “Do you play?” 

“I play a similar instrument,” said the Onceler. “I could probably play this.”

Suddenly, Macbeth extremely urgently needed a demonstration. “I’ll make camp,” he said. “Please play for me.” 

They found a place for Rainey to sit and rest by a river where she could drink, and Macbeth sat and waited. 

The Onceler cleared his throat. “I may not be good,” he warned. “My instrument is slightly different.” He looked hesitant. 

Macbeth got up and sat next to the Onceler where he was leaning on Rainey’s back. He touched his wrist and looked deep into his eyes. “Please play.” 

The Onceler nodded with a shy smile, and began to play and sing. 

“My my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender. Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way. The history book on the shelf, is always repeating itself.”

Macbeth didn’t know who Waterloo or Napoleon was, but he was mesmerized by the Onceler. As he sang, he closed his eyes and bit his lip, his expression orgasmic.

“Waterloo! I was defeated, you won the war. Waterloo, promise to love you forever more.”

Macbeth cut him off there, putting a hand on his arm. The Onceler stopped singing, confused.   
“Onceler,” Macbeth whispered. “I’ve been in many battles, but no one has ever conquered me as quickly as you have today.” 

The Onceler’s eyes grew wide with understanding, and he leaned forward slowly. Macbeth met him with his lips. They were just as delicious as he imagined. Macbeth slipped a tongue into the Onceler’s mouth as they clutched each other, eliciting a groan. 

“M...Macbeth.”

And then a shot rang out, and the Onceler went limp in Macbeth’s arms. Rainey reared up, and Macbeth had to grab her reins to stop her from running. 

He shook the Onceler’s body frantically, but there was no use. Macbeth gathered his new lover into his arms and screamed, then jumped up, grabbing his gun. He would have revenge. He pointed it into the forest, shooting randomly. 

“Stop, stop! It’s me!”

Macbeth stopped shooting, but did not lower the gun. “Banquo?”

Banquo stepped out of the forest. “I was so worried when you didn’t return. I thought that man was attacking you.”

“He wasn’t attacking me.” Macbeth buried his face in Rainey’s back to hide his tears. “He was my... friend.”

Banquo’s face looked grave. “I’m sorry.”

Macbeth considered shooting him, but there was no point. There was no point in anything anymore.


End file.
